Preparations

'But the roads are dangerous, you have heard about the-'

'They are rumors. Don't go on believing every hearsay,' Eldric Ashberne's low but firm voice spoke in urgency, interrupting Clarence as she relayed her concerns. She knew, however, that the reports of murders and people going missing weren't just exaggerated lies. Something—or someone—was on the loose, committing crimes, and they were supposed to leave for Ravelon in a few hours, even though the murderer still hadn't been caught.

'Why would anyone create such rumors?' Clarence demanded. 'There have been reports of people witnessing demonic activities. Many are saying that there has been a rise in the numbers of Wraiths.'

Eldric set aside the newspaper he had been reading on a side table and rose from his resting position on the sedan. He looked at his wife, neatly dressed in a deep purple gown, her dark hair coiled atop her head. She paced the length of the bedroom, brows creased, wringing her fingers as her feet wore the green carpet to the ground.

'These are just fabricated tales,' Eldric said, his tone dismissive. 'Most likely a ploy by the religious zealots to instill fear in the community, earn money by promising to cure ailments, and control people. You don't need to fret; the murders may very well have been the work of mad animals. If it eases you, I have hired extra guards for the journey. Everyone will be safe.'

Clarence took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as she nodded.

Melannia had heard enough. She soundlessly walked away from the door and rounded the corner, carrying the tea tray in her hands, her mind churning on what she had just over-heard. She, too, had believed that the murders were caused by animal attacks or a looting gang, but Wraiths? Demonic activities? She wasn't superstitious, but something about the reports made her strap a knife to her gown's belt, hidden beneath her cloak, as she prepared to leave.

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It was freezing. The temperature dropped lower and lower as they neared the North. The carriage wheels creaked as they rolled along the rough, snow-covered path, now isolated as the sky darkened. They had been traveling since morning, stopping only for a brief rest at the sixth hour. The men had set up camp, tended to the horses, and served soup before resuming their journey two hours later. Now, the two carriages moved steadily toward Ravelon.

Eldric and Clarence Ashberne rode in the front carriage, the Ashberne crest—three birds flying in an enclosed ring—emblazoned on its maroon sides, the silver stark against the dark hue. The coachmen, guards, and servants also wore maroon uniforms adorned with the Ashberne crest on their chests. All workers of the Ashberne family were required to wear these uniforms as a sign of loyalty and allegiance.

Melannia wrapped her fur-lined cloak tightly around her, grateful for its warmth as she pulled back the curtain and peered outside through the small window. Her breath formed white ghosts in the air as she gazed at the unfolding scenery. Everything was covered in a delicate layer of white, winter's own garment of purity. Snowflakes danced and swirled outside, casting a tantalizing spell as they settled upon the bare branches of trees, transforming them into sentinels of ice and frost. The moonlight shimmered on the velvety snow, giving the entire landscape an ethereal glow. She smiled when she saw a heap of snow fall from one of the branches onto an unfortunate squirrel, turning it into a miniature snowman.

The carriage wheels creaked and groaned, the horses' hooves crunching through the frozen crust. They had entered the forest. Melannia's eyes roamed over the desolate, snow-shrouded landscape. The trees stood like skeletal fingers, dark and white against the grey sky, as if painted with delicate strokes of an artist's brush. The air was crisp and cold, carrying the scent of pine, wood smoke, and melting snow as it wafted into the carriage on a frozen breeze.

She wanted to stay there forever, gazing at nature's beauty as it changed through the seasons, each more captivating than the last. She wondered what it would feel like to live enclosed under the canopy of trees, away from people, politics, alliances, and mind games—away from the problems and nightmares that haunted her sleepless nights. She had thought about it before: running away to a desolate place and spending her life there. It would be peaceful. She didn't even mind the idea of faking her death to achieve it, but then her mind would conjure an image of Aunt Clarence weeping and lamenting, and guilt would wreck her.

'My Lady?' Lucinda's voice pulled her from her thoughts. Melannia turned, the curtain falling back into place as Lucinda looked at her questioningly. When Melannia didn't respond, Lucinda sighed and repeated herself.

'I asked if something is bothering you. You've been sighing for the past few minutes. I advised you that Blyde was incapable of taking on such a huge responsibility. Are you regretting assigning him as the one in charge now?'

Melannia blinked at her. Lucinda clearly harbored personal resentment toward Blyde. She mistook Melannia's silence as agreement and continued her complaints.

'It's right to worry now. Blyde may very well be sinking the entire trading business into the waters of Dyfri—'

'Did you want to handle the business yourself, Lu?' Melannia interrupted.

Lucinda's cheeks turned pink, and she raised her hands defensively. 'That's not what I meant! No, erm, I was just saying that Blyde wasn't the right candidate for such a big task. But nothing can change now, can it? And of course, I couldn't have been the one to do it. Who would have accompanied you then? I can't let you travel without a personal maid.' She cleared her throat with a short cough. Melannia's smile widened mischievously as Lucinda continued to prattle on.

After Lucinda finished defending herself, she fell quiet. Melannia placed her hand on top of Lucinda's and gave it a reassuring squeeze, prompting a smile from the maid. Lucinda was beautiful, with an oval face and soft brown hair coiled tightly at her nape. Her skin had a golden undertone, more prominent in warm weather, and the mole just below her right eye drew attention to her slanted, almond-shaped eyes, which reflected her intelligence and honesty. The plain red gown she wore contrasted wonderfully with her olive skin.

'My lady,' Lucinda began, her eyes taking on a worried look. 'Have you—'

The carriage jerked suddenly, cutting her off as it hit a particularly rough patch of road. The horses neighed, and the driver's loud shouts echoed as the guards suddenly surrounded them, swords drawn. Melannia grasped the window frame, her gloved fingers tightening as the vehicle jolted and swayed before coming to a stop. She exchanged a glance with Lucinda, both their eyes narrowing in concern. Lifting a corner of the curtain, Melannia peeked outside just as something raked its claws through a guard's chest. Blood splattered everywhere, dripping onto the white ground and shining like rubies. The guard's lifeless body crumpled to the snow.

The creature jerked his head suddenly and looked up as if sensing her movement. In the next second it lunged.